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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26804584">Prometheus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/basgijr/pseuds/basgijr'>basgijr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Campfires, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Two bros chilling by campfire no feet apart because they are gay, because killua is killua, because they don’t talk about it, kind of, oh boy, the longing in this fic is so nice, they just... learn intimacy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:08:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26804584</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/basgijr/pseuds/basgijr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I sleep. I dream. I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly.” </p><p>“Tell me we’ll never get used to it.”</p><p>― Richard Siken</p><p>Or, Killua reflects on his and Gon’s first sleepover, one night, by the fire. And very carefully allows himself to hope. To feel.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gon Freecs &amp; Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Prometheus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's late.<br/><br/></p><p></p><div>
  <p>Killua pokes at the fire with a twig, absentmindedly going through the events of the day. <br/><br/></p>
</div><div>
  <p>The heat from the burning wood isn't too hot on his skin; he's been trained to withstand far, far worse. In fact, it almost soothes his sore extremities. He doesn't bruise easy, not anymore, but the quotidian rough and tumble still <em>hurts</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He chances a glance to his side, where Gon is watching the small sparks that trail toward the sky, thanks to Killua's fiddling with the flames.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>(The first time they'd done this, camping out the night together, Killua had been sat just like this. Gon had been on the other side of the fire, though, and as Killua had disturbed the fire's core with a stick, desperate do something to occupy his mind, Gon had warned him against it.)</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Their thighs are just barely touching. It's a small fire, and a relatively cool night.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>("You'll kill it like that!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Kill? Fires aren't alive, stupid.")</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He hadn't really noticed until now how close they'd gotten, in their journeys together. Not just in deepening their friendship, but in something else that makes his cheeks blush and voice fail.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Here's the worst part: it's not enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>("Killuaaaaa. If you collapse the fire's heart, it won't be able to breathe; it'll go out."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What, because it needs oxygen? You worry too much. I'm not knocking the air out of it, I'm only nudging it a little. I won't let it die, I could start a fire before I could walk.")</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Killua puts the stick down. Shifts a little, so their thighs are fully pressed together, hip to ankle. Gon's skin against his own is hotter than the fire, and he can't tell if that's his own mortification or due to their natural temperatures combining.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>("Oh! Keeping a fire going isn't just about setting it alight!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Sure, sure.")</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Their first night together had been interesting. They weren't quite sure what to make of each other yet, and Killua at least could say he had given himself a little leeway to test the waters. So if his quips had been a little harsher than he meant that night, no-one but himself had to know. Gon didn't seem to have minded, being in good spirits even though he wanted to lecture Killua about the perhaps questionable longevity of their fire.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Because he can never leave something, anything, alone for long, and Gon always seems content to let Killua take, and take, and take, he... allows himself to relax a bit more into his surroundings. Gon's warmth beside him, a fire of a feeling in its own right, on top of the swaying fire, leaves his eyelids heavy. A yawn carefully unbolts his jaws apart, and he doesn't bother to tense them shut afterwards.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His heart hurts, and he puts a hand to it, almost checking it's still his own. Then he makes the mistake of veering over, to Gon's hands. Gon's skin is golden in this light, and Killua feels scalded. Burnt away, even. The fire lights up Gon's tan, makes him look truly animated even now, when the day is done and their bones are tired. It gives a new dimension to his thick black hair, too, reflecting off the strands in such variably pretty ways that Killua feels like even by merely looking, he's theft something terribly valuable. His eyes dart to his own hands again, quickly, a feeling forming more vividly without permission in his head. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Out of the intangible sworlings of thoughts about Gon, this one; the one he's carefully kept to himself for as long he could, tight to his chest, gets really quite bold. And now that he recognises it for what it is, it won't go away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He- He wants to-</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Oh, he <em>wants.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>There's shuffling, and Killua recognises the slight scratch of Gon's blanket, large enough to cover two skinny barely-teenagers who can't quite bring themselves to lay apart. Without words, there's an understanding made. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When Killua's back touches the floor, he dares to reach for Gon's hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Can we... Just like this. For tonight." His words sound foolish even to his own ears, and childish. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He prepares himself to be refused, like with everything in his life up until this point. Like back at the estate, he thinks grimly, resigned, the memory clawing at him in his anxiety. When he was young and still begging for rest, for food, not yet knowing the taste of denial or restraint. But even as he prepares himself for this, he hopes. Very faintly, he hopes-- like a single lit match under a bench, hiding from the pelting rain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Okay," Gon says, like it's easy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Killua huffs out a slightly hysterical laugh, and Gon just smiles at him. He won't notice it now, too busy committing the expression to memory, but later Killua will notice the peace in that smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>("Goodnight, Killua."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Night... Gon.")</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Goodnight, Gon." </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Goodnight, Killua."</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
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